Roses
by goodnightsweetprince
Summary: It's Hermione's last birthday at Hogwarts. What do roses have to do with it? My final project for my college literature class, so I need critism! Disregard for HBP, RHr, of course.


**A/N:** Alright, FYI, I'm taking college courses for three weeks (there's only one week left as of now). One of my classes is Literature: A Writer's Workshop. Everyone doing this summer program knows that I am shamelessly in love with the following: Harry Potter books, Ron Weasley, and Ron/Hermione. Therefore, I am not ashamed to say that this is my final project for that class. I went ahead and did it really early, because I wanted to post it here as soon as possible. I command you to feel special.Hope you like it; Iworked _really_ hard on it.Please, please, PLEASE review! 

P.S.-Takes place during seventh year, and completely diregards HBP. They might seem a smidgenOOC, but that's because the people here don't care enough to tell, so I thought I might get away with it for the purpose of the story.

AND- I know Hermione's bday is, in fact, September 19th, and she also knows that, but at the beginning, she's forgotten, and at the end, she's just messing with Ron's mind.

**Disclaimer:** Everything is JKR's- I just enjoy manipulating her characters evily.

Roses

Reasons Why Ron Weasley is Infuriating

**1.) He is incredibly clueless/ tactless.**

**2.) He thinks so little of himself.**

**3.) When he isn't putting himself down, he tends to get carried away with his ego.**

**4.) When it comes to girls, he is incredibly shallow.**

**5.) He makes me laugh and cry at the same time.**

**6.) He is too cute for his own good.**

Hermione paused and reread the list she had absently been making during the rare free period after Transfiguration. Had Ron or Harry been near, she would never have made such a list. This piece of rubbish was just a way to whittle her time while waiting for them.

In fact, she was beginning to become a bit worried about them. They had gone off after class, saying that they'd be right back and that she should go on outside. Therefore, she was now sitting under the infamous beech tree that stood near the shore of the Black Lake, compiling a list of why her best friend irked her.

She hated when she let her thoughts drift; it led to things like this. Every day she muffled these kinds of thoughts, the kind that liked to prod your brain every time the object in question appeared, only to pour them out onto her diary every night. She could never quite bear to look at it in the morning, when her rational thoughts were in command.

And yet, they were always there in the back of her mind, trying to take her by surprise so that she would blurt out everything to Ron. That would never happen, though. It was foolish to even think such things. Her best friend, who happened to be a prat – an insensitive, clueless, adorable prat- would never look at her the same way.

Hermione closed her diary and stuffed it into her bag. She had no idea how it had ended up there in the first place; it was usually in the bottom drawer of her bedside table, locked with an enchantment so that people such Lavender Brown couldn't snoop.

She had been searching her bag, looking for something to do - she had finished every homework assignment the night before, so that was out of the question- and had found the tiny, blue diary that was encrusted with the word JOURNAL above a picture of an elegant yellow rose. She had gotten it for an early twelfth birthday present- her first birthday away from home- with instructions from her mother encouraging her to write about her "plights" at Hogwarts. She had stared incredulously at the little book before dutifully introducing herself and never touching it again.

That is, until a little more than a month later, she began to write feverously in it, about two people in particular who had saved her life from a mountain troll. That was six years ago, and now the diary had few pages left. Looking back, she realized how different her writing was compared to the present. The style had certainly changed; in her earlier years, the words had been mechanical and business-like. Now, however, it was full of feeling and flow.

The subjects of the entries had also changed entirely. In the past, it would include her adventures with Harry and Ron, and uncertainties about her latest quiz. Around her third year, when she began stressing herself out, more feelings showed up in her diary, more personal thoughts. By the time sixth year rolled around, it was full of Ron-induced rants, and uncertainties about her own life.

It's safe to say that the contents of her diary would never meet the eyes of another human being than herself.

"Where _are_ they?" she whispered impatiently, and looked at her watch. **12:15. **There was an hour yet, and there were so many things she could be doing. Well, not really, but still! She didn't want to spend the rest of the free period sitting on the hard ground, leaning against the rough bark of a tree, waiting for two boys to hurry up. Yes, she would go to the library. If Harry and Ron finally arrived, they would just have to find her.

She hoisted herself up off of the ground. Stretching (it had been a terribly uncomfortable position, and she had been sitting there for over half an hour), she surveyed the grounds of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Many younger students had taken to walking around aimlessly, talking with one another, while a surprising number of older students seemed to be studying. Even Seamus Finnigan was engrossed in a book. It was amazing how serious everyone in seventh year was becoming in light of N.E.W.T.s, and the fact that this was the last year they would spend at Hogwarts.

"Hermione, where are you going?" said a slightly out of breath voice from behind her. Startled, Hermione spun around quickly, and barely caught a glimpse of a flushed redhead before falling down on her behind, having unknowingly twisted her legs in the strap of her bag.

"Hermione!" yelped Ron, and he rushed over to her, kneeling down. "Ugh," she replied, dazed. She half expected him to laugh- it _had_ been quite a spectacular fall- but instead he just looked worriedly at her. She now realized what a silly assumption that had been. She was confusing younger Ron with older Ron. Just as everyone, he had been growing up this year, something she had never quite expected him to do. Sure, he still asked her to write his essays for him, and he was still incredibly clueless, but perhaps not as much now. He was confident, careful, and caring. He still had his laughs, but he was frighteningly serious when need be.

It was confusing. He was so different, and yet completely the same. It was getting harder and harder to use the excuse that he was too immature to understand his feelings toward her, if he had any. He was so sure of himself as he gazed at her and he would touch her with purpose. So different.

"You OK?" he said quietly, holding out a hand to help her up. She stared at him for a long moment before getting up, ignoring his hand. She would not let her defenses fall, not yet. She glared defiantly at him.

"Where have you been? And where's Harry?" She looked around, noticing that her other best friend was nowhere to be seen. Ron uncertainly cleared his throat.

"Er… He'll be here in a minute." He looked over her shoulder and his face visibly relaxed. She turned to see what he was looking at, but he grabbed her arm so that she was facing him.

"Hermione, do we have any homework in Potions?" Hermione sighed and immediately forgot about the suspicion that had been building up from his strange actions.

"Yes, Ron, we _always_ do," said Hermione impatiently. Ron looked past her shoulder again, and for some reason, nodded. What in Merlin's name was going on?

She tried to turn around again, but, just like last time, Ron stopped her.

"Hermione," Ron started slowly," close your eyes."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Fine," he sighed, irritated. He moved so swiftly that she hadn't time to react. Suddenly, he was standing behind her, and two large hands were covering her eyes. She felt warmth rush to her cheeks.

"What the-"

He slowly turned her in the other direction. She heard him whispering something and suddenly a familiar chorus broke out loudly.

"_Happy birthday to you…"_

Ron's hands pulled away from her face, and in front of her stood Harry, Neville, Ginny, and Luna, who was holding a large, box-shaped cake. When the song died out, Hermione just stared at everyone, awed.

"It's … not my birthday, is it?"

Ginny laughed and said, "Yes it is! I couldn't forget your birthday. Anyways, like the cake? Got it made especially for you."

Hermione looked closer at the cake, and realized that it was made to resemble a book. How thoughtful. She wondered if they had gotten the house-elves to do it. Before she could say anything, Ginny had conjured a picnic blanket and Luna had placed the cake on it.

"Come on; let's eat it before these meddling first years see it. You first, Hermione…"

Hermione spent the rest of break stuffing herself with cake (on Harry and Ron's commands, of course). They each gave her a present; Harry, a new version of _Hogwarts, A History; _Ginny, a bottle of Sleakezy's Hair Potion; Luna, a new edition of _The Quibbler; _andNeville, a bag of Honeydukes candy.

She had yet to receive a present from Ron, which made her a little disappointed. She watched as the group chatted. As the hour ended, Ginny got rid of the blanket, and Hermione Scourgified the area. At five minutes past one o'clock, Neville insisted it was time to go, but as the group dispersed, Ron held her back.

"So, did you like it? It's your last birthday at Hogwarts, and we wanted to do something special."

"It was lovely, really, but-"she was cut off by a quick hand movement from Ron.

"I didn't get you a present, right?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"No, no, no. No buts. I _did_ get you a present, but I didn't want them to be around when I gave it to you." Here he blushed, having apparently revealed something embarrassing.

"R-really?" she stammered slightly.

"Yeah, I don't know if you'll like it, but I saw it on your d-… Never mind. Just- here." He was obviously becoming flustered.

With a flourish, he pulled his hand from behind his back. She hadn't even realized it had been there, but now she knew he had been hiding something. That something was a delicate yellow rose, adorned with dew drops as if it had just been picked.

She covered her mouth and took the rose from his grasp. It truly was beautiful. Then, something stuck her.

"What exactly did you say you saw it on?" Ron, who had been looking proud at her previous reaction, gave her a sheepish glance and stared at his feet.

"Erm, y-your diary?"

"_Ron!_"

"I- _well you left it in the Common Room!_ Would you rather _Seamus_ read it?

"You _read_ my diary!" She was absolutely furious. Maybe he hadn't grown up after all.

"Um, well…" he faded off, giving her the blasted puppy dog eyes. They were not going to work this time.

"How dare you? I can't believe you would read my diary! You're supposed to be my _friend_! You- you-"She made a frustrated noise and resolved to just glare at him. After a minute or so (although it felt much longer), he began to speak.

"I'm really sorry. No, let me finish." She had been about to cut him off, but quieted at the sharpness of his voice.

"Do you know what a yellow rose means?" She simply stared at him, stumped.

"It means 'friendship' and 'joy'. Different colors and types mean different things. That's why I got you these, too."

He conjured two roses out of thin air; a dark pink one, and another one that she simply assumed was a rose, although it looked nothing like one.

"This one-"he pointed to the dark pink rose," means 'thankfulness'. I'm really happy that you're my friend. So thank you." He cleared his throat awkwardly and pointed to the other one.

"It may not look like it, but this is a rose. It's called a moss rose. You can find out what it means later." He reddened and handed the flowers to her.

She took them, at loss for what to do next. He had given her roses. _Three_ roses. And he was thankful that she was his friend. But what did a moss rose mean? She would have to look that up. Maybe Neville might know…

But right now, it was time to get to class; they barely had six minutes to reach the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Oh dear. She ushered Ron out from under the tree, grabbing her book bag with one hand, and carrying the roses in the other.

As they hurried across the lawn, Ron hastily added, "I put a non-wilting charm on those, so you don't have to water them, and um," he blushed," you can put them in your bag and they won't get squished. " He continued in a mutter and scratched the back of his neck, "You know, just in case you wanted to do that…"

"Oh!" She stopped at once and pulled her bag off of her shoulder. After safely placing the flowers into the side pocket of the bag, she slipped it back on and continued walking, a small smile glued to her face.

As they neared the classroom, Ron again asked her if she had like the surprise birthday party. She stopped and slowly turned to him.

"It was lovely, but-" She grinned here. Ron's face fell slightly.

"-today's the nineteenth, right?" Ron looked confused, but nodded.

Hermione shook her head and laughed.

"It's honestly not my birthday." Ron's expression turned into one of horror.

Hermione walked into the classroom, leaving Ron rooted to the spot ("But-"). It was_ so_ fun messing around with him.

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After dinner, Hermione sought out Neville. She found him in the library, writing the Potions essay. He looked up when she came in and smiled widely.

"How was your, day, Birthday Girl?"

"Uh, great. Listen, Neville… Do you know a book with the meanings of roses in it?" Neville looked puzzled and reached down for his bag.

"That's funny, Ron asked for the same thing. Here it is!" Hermione rolled her eyes at Neville's statement, and took the book that he was handing to her.

"Thank you!" She sat at the table next to his, and search for anything related to rose colors. Finally, she found a chapter titled, "Roses and Their Meanings". Scanning the page she found a chart. On the left side, colors were labeled, on the other, their meaning.

"Yellow- Friendship, happiness or joy"

She smiled, and continued reading:

"Dark pink- thankfulness"

Finally, she found it, and gasped, drawing Neville's attention.

"Moss rose- Confession of love"

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Yay! Now remember, please review. I will honestly adore any critism you give, because you might make my grade better.


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